


Nattverd

by DEATHEXECUTION



Category: Lords of Chaos (2018), Mayhem (Band)
Genre: :), Arson, Band Fic, Blood, Blood Kink, Breathplay, Choking, Closeted Character, Disturbing Themes, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, RPF, This is genuinely cliche as fuck.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:41:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24633259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DEATHEXECUTION/pseuds/DEATHEXECUTION
Relationships: Dead | Per Yngve Ohlin/Øystein Aarseth
Comments: 10
Kudos: 31





	Nattverd

**_ The wicked temptation of _ **

_** your skin ** _

_ “ You look so good with my hand wrapped around your throat. ” _

A leather jacket grinds and the husky voice lingers on the skin right beneath the guitarist’s ear. Slender fingers dig into his throat, engraving bruising marks. The catastrophe at hand was, well,

_ complicated.  _

Yeah, complicated. That’s the word.

Øystein could scarcely breathe, the pressure on his throat was overbearing and he was losing consciousness already, him having lost the amount of air needed to behave  properly . 

The bed suddenly didn’t seem as uncomfortable anymore.

Just as he guessed that he was going to peacefully blackout, even more tension was applied and it turned out to be much more painful than anticipated; and that was his limit. The distress and the brisk loss of oxygen that made him mindlessly  try to gasp for air. 

Hoisting his arm, he strived not to panic as he gave the latter’s leather sleeve a shaky yank — an indication to  stop . 

_ And he did. _

The force on his throat ultimately being removed, he managed to part his lips in a frantic gasp for air, but a pair of chapped lips met his in a bruising tangle of a kiss before he could even inhale in properly.

Giving the Swede a hard shove to the chest, he managed to push the kiss away and breathe in deeply. Pelle only laughed at the desperate push, smiling widely at how pissed off the Norwegian appeared.  Øystein almost expected him to say something dull like ‘I snatched your breath away!’

“ What the _fuck_! ” Øystein hissed, his voice sounding choked up and urged, greatly to his dismay.

“What? Couldn’t handle it?” The vocalist teased, then veered, sitting on top of the smaller man pridefully and eyeing the red-tinted, shaping bruise. “Looks like it bruised pretty badly. No wonder you’re pissed.”

“Pelle, I  _ literally _ couldn’t fucking  breathe .” 

“ _And_?” Pelle snickered. “It’s not like I was _killing_ you, you would’ve just passed out anyway.”

Raising his brows, Øystein stared at the latter in disbelief. “So you don’t care, then?”

And the Swede rolled his eyes, huffing;

“I didn’t say that. You’re just being dramatic,  _ Euronymous _ .” 

The distinct tone in the frontman’s voice was served with satire. He was ridiculing the guitarist, and it didn’t make him feel any better. 

“ _Don’t call me that_ ,” Øystein confided in a murmur and looked away in humiliation. 

Normally he’d gloat on and on about how badass he was and how badass his stage name sounded, but whenever Pelle would say the name in such a mocking tone, all of his confidence in it would almost vaporize. 

“ _Or what_?” The frontman’s eyes narrowed _tauntingly_ , a wicked grin splaying over his lips as he folded his arms. 

The two then stared each other down challengingly as Øystein simply refused to retort with a smart argument, as if that didn’t prove Pelle right enough. This only caused the Swede’s grin to grow smugger, the latter only shrinking more and more in unwanted embarrassment. 

_ Seems like the two have a long path ahead of them.  _


End file.
